The Song of Dark Doves
by Tippy.LaRoux
Summary: When Draco is hurled back to a time before the war that tore him apart, who will he turn to? Can he learn from his mistakes and make better choices? And, why does a certain Transfiguration professor keep popping up?


Tuesday October 4, 1977

Draco Malfoy began the day the same as every other day since arriving in 1977 two months ago. He woke up at 6:00 AM, a carryover from Quidditch days, and went for a forty-five minute run around the castle grounds. After a quick shower and shave, he headed to the shared professors study to work on the day's lesson plans with a quiet cup of tea. These few moments spent by himself to reorganize his thoughts and switch gears from the scared young man who grew up in this castle making too many wrong decisions to name, to the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, were crucial to his sanity.

He walked through the deserted hallways and was going over the first year lesson plan he had found in one of the abandoned teachers editions from his personal library. Mostly, the collection of books consisted of previous professors cast-offs and some books lent to him by Albus Dumbledore to help teach the cursed subject. So lost in thought was the new professor that he didn't realize the room wasn't empty. He pushed into the space dropping a thick tome on the table, which startled the other occupant. The sharp gasp shook Draco from his musings.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, Pr—, Minerva." Draco stumbled over greeting his future—or was it former?—Transfiguration professor. Ever since arriving in the past he found her to be just as terrifying to him as an adult as she was to him when he was a student years ago. The only difference now was that they were on the same side of the desk in the classroom.

With her hand grasping what looked like a crumpled letter to her chest, Minerva McGonagall stared at Draco with glassy eyes. Quickly turning back to the fireplace, she pushed up from the warm leather chesterfield and set about tidying up her morning spot.

"Not to worry, Draco. I was just finishing up my tea. I am usually long gone by this time. I—" she cleared her throat; her voice sounded rough from something like lack of sleep, before she met Draco's eyes again. "I was up late grading papers and got a late start this morning."

She managed to fold the letter neatly and vanish it inside her sleeve before she picked up her tea from the table. Taking one last look around, she smoothed her skirts and began making her way to the door.

Straightening his own robes and running his hand over his platinum blonde locks, he moved out of her way. "Well, if they are as good as the ones I was looking at last night, those sixth years will not be having a good day today." When Draco smiled at the woman, he wondered again about her story. Much like the other faculty he knew from his own timeline, Minerva McGonagall looked so much younger with the rewinding of time and was untouched by the ravages of war. But, unlike the others, she did not have the unbroken look of innocence. He recognized the pain and self loathing that was reflected back at him when he interrupted her this morning.

"What is it about that age? You are closer to it than I am, Draco. Was it really that difficult to be seventeen? Why must everything be about Quidditch and robes? This is when they should be worrying about their career path, not chasing after boys and girls." In her exasperated rant, she missed the darkness that flashed in Draco's eyes when he remembered all too well his sixth year. It was difficult, though not because of anything as mundane as Quidditch or girls. No, his life changed at the drop of a hat when he was ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore.

"Come on, Minerva, you are not that much older than I am. Though, I do try to forget that year as often as possible." He tried to hide the morose look that flashed on his face. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I lost my father, and with that, an awful lot of the family responsibility fell to me." It wasn't exactly a lie, his father was lost to them most of that year. He was in Azkaban paying for crimes committed in the Ministry of Magic while Draco was at Hogwarts trying to keep his mother safe by fulfilling the impossible task set to him by a merciless leader.

"Well, I am sorry to hear that. Albus did say that you traveled something of a—" she stared unwaveringly into his eyes searching for something. "A broken road that led you here. He seems to find us all when we need him. Collecting a sort of a band of misfits here."

"I am definitely used to being a misfit," Draco smirked at Minerva who quirked a sharp eyebrow at him as she brushed by him on the way out the door.

She was halfway down the corridor when Draco looked down and found the folded letter on the ground. I was Muggle paper, and had "Happy Birthday Minnie" scrawled across the top in faded block letters.

"Minnie?!" Draco yelled down the corridor. The witch stopped in her tracks and whipped her head around to stare at him. With her sharp eyes glaring, she looked more like his old professor, which made his gut clench in ways than he would not care to admit. He felt like he was back in the classroom, and she was going either take points from Slytherin or issue a detention.

"No one calls me that," she scowled as she walked back towards him. Grabbing the note, she made sure to better secure it before turning on her heel to leave. A shaft of light broke through one of the open windows in the corridor, and as she stalked away, it illuminated the rich auburn of her hair.

What was wrong with him? Why was he looking at his old Transfiguration professor like she was a prize in one of those Muggle claw machines? Shaking his head, he filed it away under the effects of some combination of the five years he spent in Azkaban, the year locked down at the Ministry, and maybe even the Time Turner accident that hurled him twenty-six years into the past. Somehow, through all of that, McGonagall changed from a cranky old perfectionist professor to an authoritative woman who he felt connected to above all others in this time.

The day continued to go much like he feared. While walking through the halls between classes he overheard more than one account of classroom antics that would cause Severus Snape pause. The group of third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had Defence Against the Dark Arts immediately following Transfiguration were rendered speechless for the first half of his lesson. Apparently, a pair of them were caught giggling about a poorly performed switching spell and were threatened with the Tongue-Tying Curse if they spoke again the rest of the class.

Draco was glad to end the school day with first year Slytherins and Gryffindors. They did not have to face the wrath of Minerva that day and were therefore their normal eager selves. Once the homework was issued and the books packed up, Draco prepared for dinner in the Great Hall. He promised to take one meal a day there, and this week it was dinner.

When Minerva walked into the hall all conversation stopped. She had somehow managed to terrify the entire school, from the first years, to the stodgiest professor in one day. Everyone turned their attention to their food and began eating in earnest—everyone except Albus Dumbledore, who smiled warmly at the witch and offered her a quiet happy birthday.

Wondering what the fuss was about, and figuring it had something to do with the Muggle letter he found her reading earlier, Draco decided to do something that was either genius or insane. Draco decided that he was going to find a way to make Minerva smile before her birthday was over, and also find out who was ever allowed to call her Minnie.

.o0o.

She was a Seeker?! No wonder she was so invested in the Quidditch matches at Hogwarts. Pomona Sprout was seated next to Draco at dinner and was a treasure trove of information. Most he knew; her love of all things Gryffindor and proclivity to a black and white view on all things magically related. Some he wasn't interested in; like her needlepoint ability and her preference for Gillywater over Firewhiskey. But Minerva being a former Quidditch player, that was something Draco could use.

Minerva finished dinner shortly after, and bidding the other professors adieu, she made her way down from the dias and out of the Great Hall. Draco wished a hasty goodnight to Pomona and hurried down after her. The woman was faster than Draco had given her credit for and was nearly to the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower before he reached her.

"Hey, Minerva, wait up!" he shouted, jogging the last hundred or so yards. She turned to face her pursuer, her glacial stare melting slightly once she recognized the shocking white hair and sharp angles of Draco's face.

"Yes, Draco, is there something you need? The day has proven to be even more exhausting than I accounted for originally, and I'd like nothing more than to retire before I am pulled into anything else." Her arms were crossed under her bust and her hip was pushed to the side in the same pose he had seen Pansy strike so often when Crabbe and Goyle were annoying her.

Draco decided if he wanted this woman to smile, he had better get on with it. If he didn't get this first bit right, and if her temper was anything akin to Pansy's when she was having a bad day, he was liable to be hexed here in the corridor.

"Well, you see, I was wondering if you could help me with something—" Draco began. Minerva's eyes began to frost over and her lips thinned out as though she were making an effort not to hex him.

"Can this wait, Draco? I have had a day, and I don't think anything you can say right now will be answered with anything other than a firm no!"

"It's just that, I need to order a new broom if I am going to have any chance at getting the flying instructor position next year, and it's been a while since I flew. Since you are the resident expert at flying and all things Quidditch, I was hoping you would help." He did the best he could to harken the wide begging eyes of childhood that his mother could not refuse. They must have worked on Minerva as well because, without a word otherwise, she walked to her office and held the door open, inviting him inside.

"So, you are going to try for that position next year when Undelfo retires?" Draco stood right inside the doorway as she scrutinized him from the top of his head to the breadth of his shoulders, to the length of his arms and legs, before taking his hands in hers. Turning them over and looking at his palms before running her thumbs over the spots that used to have pronounced calluses from gripping a broom for hours a day, she assessed the validity of his statement.

"I can tell one thing, Draco. You haven't ridden a broom in a while, and if you want to have any chance of securing that position, you had better start flying again soon." Dropping his hands, she moved around to take a seat in the small sitting area in the corner of her office and offered Draco the seat next to her. "Keeper? You have the look of a Keeper. You are definitely tall enough, and I have seen you dodging stray hexes in the halls from time to time, you seem to have the reflexes for it as well."

"I hate to disappoint, but I was a Seeker during my Quidditch days. The best Seeker Sl—" he caught himself. He was old enough to be a professor here, that was for sure. But, he was also young enough that many of the current professors would have been present when he would have attended, had this been his actual timeline. He rushed forward, hoping she didn't catch his faux pas, "I had a Nimbus then, but I haven't really kept up with the trends and would rather hear from someone I trust, rather than a clerk at Quality Quidditch Supplies."

"A Nimbus guy," her eyes narrowed, though it did not seem exactly disapprovingly. "It must have been when you were younger; the Nimbus would not suit your current stature. No, you would do better on a Comet 260, or even a Siberian Arrow. I had a Moontrimmer once that would have suited you. It was too long for me, but you would do nicely on that—what did I do with that?" She was lost in thought for a moment, although instead of staying idle, she pulled her wand from her sleeve and began flicking it around the room and suddenly a tray of biscuits and Oolong tea were placed on the table in front of them.

Before she could offer him a biscuit there was a tapping on the window. When she flicked her wand to open it, a pair of brown owls flew into the office dropping a large package on her lap. The owls each grabbed half of the biscuit she snapped in two, and flew back out the window. Looking over, Draco noticed a familiar name written in a childish scrawl across the front of the package. "Happy Birthday Aunt Minnie" flashed across the front of the package in maroon and gold glitter.

"Ah, so it is your birthday, Minerva?" Draco smiled over at Minerva as she attempted to wipe glitter from her hands. "However, you don't seem so upset about the sender of this lovely package using the name Minnie, so am I right I'm guessing the letter this morning was from them as well?" he took a chance asking that question.

"No, not the same. This," she picked up the box and put it on a free space on the table in front of her. "This is from my nieces and nephews. They live here in Scotland and send me a care package every year on my birthday." Her eyes were warm when she lovingly talked about her family. They were so expressive, and he could tell the second she switched from thinking of the youngsters to whoever wrote the letter from that morning.

"The letter this morning," she looked down at her hands as they twisted idly in her lap.

"You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry, I overstepped," he spoke softly and covered her hands with his own.

"No, I shouldn't have snapped this morning. It's just been a long time since a man has called out that name." She lifted her face to his. Ever the brave lioness, regardless of the whirlwind of emotion that was churning below the surface. "It's not one I thought I would hear again. It was a name that, for a while, belonged to a someone that believed in love and fairytales and magic."

Draco didn't have the words. He wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how. He followed her out of the Great Hall with the sole purpose of making her smile. Now, here he sat in her study while she was sharing more than he'd ever believed possible.

"I have a name like that too," he said quietly as he reached his arm around to pull her into him. He hadn't been able to use Malfoy when he came here. The family tree was very narrow, so it would have been hard to explain his origins. Black, though, was much more common. He even had the eyes and first name to go along with the name.

Pushing away from him, Minerva wiped at her eyes and made to stand.

"I'm sorry, I've taken up so much of your time, and on your birthday, no less. I do believe this is the time to bid you goodnight," he told her as he stood next to her.

"Goodnight, Draco. Thank you for stopping by. I'll see if I can find that Moontrimmer for you to try out." And with that, Minerva gave Draco what he had come here looking for. A genuine smile lit up the face of Minerva McGonagall, and the room seemed to glow.

"Goodnight, Minerva. Happy birthday," he leaned down and brushed a chaste kiss on her cheek. When he pulled back, both professors looked at each other quite surprised. Without another word, Draco spun on his heel and disappeared down the corridor to his own chamber. He needed to walk away before he said, or did, anything more foolish than just a peck on the cheek. He also needed to finish up his leson plans for the following day—so he would have time to plan his next endeavor. He was going to make Minerva smile again.

.o0o.

QLFC - Season 6 - Falcons - Chaser 3


End file.
